


Thicker Than Water

by Edwardina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Genderswap, M/M, Menstruation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's got cramps, and Sam knows just what to do for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> "I like girl!Dean," I said thoughtfully, "but what I really want to see in a genderswap fic is menstruation..." Thanks to nutkin and sevenfists.

Sam had to privately huff in amusement; Dean looked pretty pathetic. 

He was slumped back against the headboard of his bed in a grimy old t-shirt and a pair of boxers that were ill-fitting at this point, and had both his hands forcibly tucked against his belly like it was split open and his hands were holding in all his intestines. His face was scrunched into this expression of total annoyance and helplessness -- but as Sam came in, plastic bag rustling, Dean tore his eyes from the TV hopefully. 

"Tell me you got me some chocolate."

Sam pulled out a gigantic Hershey's bar from the bag with a capable smile.

"Oh my God, I love you," moaned Dean. "Give it!"

"You're so pathetic," teased Sam, tossing the chocolate bar over to Dean and earning himself a death look.

"You shut your mouth, bitch. You got no clue how lucky you are. This is hell. I'm all... bloated."

"I've heard it all before," Sam said as he shut the door behind him. Dean grumpily tore into his chocolate, mouth close to pouting. Sam added, "I got you some other stuff while I was at it."

"Oyah?" asked Dean, around the chocolate he was shoving into his mouth; he looked genuinely curious, and Sam rounded over to the edge of the other bed so he could sit across from Dean.

"Jess always got stuff like this when she was - y'know," he said, carefully avoiding flat-out stating Dean was having his period. He dug into the Walgreens bag and pulled out a copy of _Us Weekly_.

Dean took it, chewing with his mouth open -- Sam could see smears of chocolate on his canines as his lip curled. "Brad and Angelina are getting divorced? What the hell. Didn't they just get another kid -- Sam. Jeez, like I care about Brangelina."

"Uh-huh," Sam said dryly, watching Dean thrust the magazine aside and knowing full well he'd find Dean intently devouring the intimate and untrue details of Brad and Angelina's marital problems. "Well, so your masculinity wouldn't suffer any more than it has already, I also got you a copy of _Car and Driver_."

This magazine was met with a warmer reception: "Now that's more like it. Sweet. What else did you get me?"

"What makes you think I got you anything else?"

"Don't play stupid with me - I see it in the bag, Sam," growled Dean, instantly swinging back to a grumpiness that made Oscar the Grouch look like sunshine and daisies. Sam grinned, and Dean whined, "Don't jerk me around right now."

"God, you're seriously a hormonal wreck," said Sam, sounding insensitive even to his own ears. He couldn't help it, though - he was actually surprised; he didn't think Jess was ever so bad. 

Granted, his memories of her PMSing were dim now... he could remember her pink sweat pants, the way she'd cry at _Friends_ , and the way she didn't want to be touched one day and the next she would cuddle up to him and sigh in his ear. And then, right at the end and the first few days afterwards, she'd be all horny. But Dean's hormones had hit him out of nowhere, and they seemed a lot more apt to flare wildly at him. That was kinda like Dean normally, actually, but for the last few days he'd been undoubtedly more and more irritable.

"Tell me about it," said Dean heavily, staring at the TV and taking another cramming bite of his chocolate bar. Sam followed his gaze, and it took him a minute to realize what Dean was watching.

"You a big Olsen twins fan?" he asked, unable to keep the amused smile off his face.

"...They're in bikinis," tried Dean, eyes darting. "Bikinis. Who doesn't like bikinis. ... Shut up. I can feel you doin' your stupid doubtful look. I'm not watchin' CNN or _Step by_ fuckin' _Step_ , okay, and _Sex and the City_ isn't on till eleven."

Sam let out a little snicker, shaking his head, and reached into the plastic bag to fish out the other thing he'd gotten Dean: a box of Midol. He put it down on the bedside table with a purposeful cardboard thunk.

"Better than aspirin. Helps for PMS, fatigue, cramps, and bloating," he reported authoritatively, as Dean eyed the box. "Take two now. The faster you get 'em in your system, the sooner you'll feel better."

"God, fuckin' cramps," moaned Dean, reluctantly reaching for the box, like it was going to harm him instead of help him. "I'll never make PMS jokes again. I swear it. Feels like my stomach's rippin' itself up all... slow and sadistic."

"Basically, it is."

"Dude, shut up," Dean groused. "You think you're such a fuckin' know-it-all. Talk to me after you get _your_ first period. An' bring me some water, would ya."

Sighing, Sam rose and went to the bathroom to fill up one of the little motel glasses with cool water. When he returned, Dean had three pills in one palm and was rubbing at his lower stomach compulsively, with slow and rhythmic grinds of the heel of his hand. Sam wordlessly handed him the glass of water and watched him toss back the meds. It was familiar-feeling and just completely bizarre at the same time.

"Need anything else?" he asked, still feeling fairly patient even though Dean was liable to bite his head off every other minute.

"How 'bout my dick," Dean said, dead-eyed as he stared at Mary-Kate or Ashley having some poorly-acted fun in the sun.

Sam's mouth pulled up at one corner. "Sorry," he said softly.

Dean fell into silence, and Sam shed his jacket and tossed it vaguely in the direction of the foot of the bed. He wondered if Dean was watching _Holiday in the Sun_ on ABC Family because he was actually perving on the Olsen twins in their not-very-revealing bikinis or if he was fulfilling the same strange hormonal desire that always used to make Jess want to watch Meg Ryan movies with a pint of ice cream and the blanket her granny had crocheted her on her lap. Either way, he seemed to actually be watching it over the paper and foil of his Hershey bar, and although it was beyond terrible, Sam couldn't bring himself to rib Dean into changing the channel.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he said, and Dean made a vague noise around his mouthful of chocolate.

As Sam stepped into the bathroom, he caught Dean tugging _Us Weekly_ onto his lap out of the corner of one eye and smiled.

On the counter of the little beige-and-white bathroom was a box of Tampax that hadn't been opened and a little plastic package of Always pads tellingly ripped at the top. For some reason, seeing them made Sam's heart warm yet feel heavy with sorrow and sympathy at the same time. Dean was anything but a coward, but apparently he hadn't worked himself up to trying out a tampon yet. It had to be weird for him; weirder than he let on, even though he'd bitched without end for the last day about it.

Sam thought restlessly about it all as he scrubbed himself down with the complementary bar of plasticy soap under a flow of hot water that wasn't quite pressured enough. If it wasn't for the fact that Dean had a cunt, he would've been his normal self; it wasn't like he was shaving his legs and wearing lipstick and knitting -- sudden longing for chocolate and legitimate enjoyment of ABC Family movies aside. And his body really wasn't all that noticeable most of the time, especially if he was wearing his heavy leather jacket. He had very small breasts, like a seventh grader who was still wearing a training bra or something, and when they were hunting, he mercilessly strapped them down with an Ace bandage. Up until yesterday, his lack of a dick hadn't been a problem in any other way except to generally piss him off.

But this... this menstruating stuff... was new. Somehow, this made Dean a girl in ways that just scrambling up his genitals didn't. That other stuff was just a spell, a curse, a shifting of shape. This was just too real. This meant that Dean was fully-functioning as a female -- could get pregnant, probably.

It was a horrible thought, and Sam knew it, and he hated himself for immediately slipping back into what he'd felt with Jess -- the urge to take care of her, to bring her the heating pad and get her Ben and Jerry's. And more than that, he hated himself because he liked taking care of Dean. Some base instinct in Sam rose and took over at Dean's sudden helpless vulnerability.

When he emerged from the bathroom, hair toweled until it was just slightly damp curls, with his boxers hanging on his hipbones, Dean didn't even look at him.

 _Holiday in the Sun_ appeared to be over, and Dean was staring, unseeing, at _Mad About You_. One hand was still holding his belly, and Sam wondered if that made it feel better -- pressure -- or if Dean was just darkly obsessing.

"Hey," said Sam cautiously, "has the Midol kicked in?"

"You remember Nytol?" replied Dean in a distant way, and that was certainly no answer.

"Nytol?" echoed Sam.

"Y'know. ' _Nytol will help you get your Zs_ ,'" Dean said in a low, tuneful way that was almost singing but not quite. He was still staring at the TV.

"Right!" Sam did remember, vaguely. "The pills had Ns on them, and in the commercial, they rolled over until the Ns became Zs."

"Yahtzee."

"What made you think of Nytol?" asked Sam in amusement. "And are you actually watching _Mad About You_?"

"Rhymes with Midol," said Dean shortly. He'd apparently decided to ignore Sam's last question.

"They gotta be running something better than this on some channel. You tried HBO?"

Dean didn't answer, which made Sam take pause and then sit himself tentatively on the side of Dean's bed.

"Hey. So _is_ the Midol helping?"

"Guess so." Sam watched Dean's hand, all knuckly and deliberate, stroke his stomach. Then Dean's face sort of pulled, and he muttered, "My tits hurt."

Sam didn't quite know what to say to this. Now that Dean mentioned it, he vaguely recalled that being a part of Jessica's "don't touch me" moods... but he had no idea what to do for it. It didn't seem like chocolate would help that particular symptom.

"Is it bad?" he asked quietly, not wanting Dean to get all caustic and clammy on him again.

"Just - ache, or somethin'."

"Do you have them wrapped up?"

"Tch. Yeah. 'M not wearin' a bra, Sammy. Don't you even start with that --"

"No, no," said Sam quickly. This was a touchy subject even when Dean _wasn't_ all hormonal and bleeding. He made sure to inject extra sympathy into his voice, almost like he'd talk to a traumatized witness laid up in a hospital bed. "It's just... you feel bloated 'cause your body's retaining water. Squeezing your chest down when you're bloated is just gonna make it hurt."

"The sheer amount of girly knowledge you got stored away is scarin' me," said Dean, finally giving him a look that was all furrowed eyebrows and burning eyes. "What, you got a pussy too?"

"Here," said Sam, blatantly ignoring that. "Sit up an' I'll help you get the bandage off."

"Oh, _jeez._ " Dean rolled his eyes -- but he straightened up with a huff as if on autopilot, and Sam pulled his legs up onto the bed so he could scoot in behind Dean.

"Just hike your shirt up, Dean," instructed Sam.

With a roll of muscles that hadn't lost any definition even with his physical changes, Dean did, breathing as if vastly annoyed by this whole process. But his immediate compliance made Sam realize all over again that Dean trusted his experiences with this kind of thing, and that made his touch quite gentle as he peeled off the Velcro fastenings and slowly unwound the bandage from its haphazard ring around Dean's chest. The skin revealed as he pulled the bandage away was printed with red stripes mottled with a sandy texture. Jeez, how had Dean managed to get this thing so tight around himself? He really did think a sports bra or something would be better than an Ace bandage... and maybe after all this experience with sanitary napkins and Olsen twins movies, Dean could find it in him to agree.

But probably not.

"There," he said, reaching around Dean to pull the bandage off completely -- 

And his right thumb brushed over the soft, irregular swell of one of Dean's tits.

Dean either ignored it or didn't notice, but Sam sort of blushed anyway. It wasn't like he hadn't seen them, and it wasn't like Dean seemed to treat them like normal girls did -- with any sense of modesty -- but even though Dean regularly went around shirtless after peeling out of blood-stained shirts or after showers like they weren't there at all, _Sam's_ sense of modesty made him feel a bit uncomfortable at actually touching them without permission. Even on accident.

Dean let his t-shirt back down, then shot over his shoulder, "Perv."

Sam could feel himself flushing further, but he joked back, "What? They're cute. You'd grab 'em if I had 'em."

"It's been too long since you've seen tits, man," grinned Dean, and slowly scrunched himself down until his head was on his wadded-up pillow.

"I see yours every freakin' day!" Sam shot back.

"Real tits," clarified Dean. He was still tugging his t-shirt down straight. "Man, the Olsen twins got bigger ones than me."

Sam, deep in the process of neatly rolling up Dean's Ace bandage, arched a brow.

"Y'know... I can't actually tell if you're jealous or not."

"Shuddup," was Dean's reply. 

Dimpling up wryly, Sam shook his head and tossed the roll of bandage somewhere vaguely in the direction of Dean's duffel bag. It was a poor shot that would've missed the basket entirely if he was playing Horse, but Dean didn't have a comment about his sucky throw. When Sam looked at him expectantly, he found Dean absently staring at Helen Hunt and rubbing at one of the small curves on his chest -- gentle, but in the same insistent way as he'd rubbed his stomach.

"Shut up," he repeated.

"Uh," said Sam. "Hopefully the Midol will help with the swelling like it helped with the cramps."

Dean just made a face. "Hasn't helped much with those. You sure you don't got morphine or somethin'..."

"Yes, Dean," said Sam, "I got morphine at our friendly neighborhood Walgreens. I had a coupon."

At that, Dean quit fiddling with his chest and gave Sam the finger, and the mere suggestion made Sam's mind gave a lurch in entirely the wrong direction.

There was a lengthy pause, then, filled with Paul Reiser's whine and a laugh track and Dean's forehead furrowing into lines of depressed discomfort. In the middle of a loud, annoying commercial for Gallagher Ford's Rock Bottom Sale, he spoke up all suddenly, without being entirely certain as to why he was speaking at all.

"Know what I used to do for Jess sometimes? When she was crampy...?"

"Voodoo?" asked Dean carelessly.

"Uh... haha. No, I used to... get her off."

The look Dean turned on him just then was priceless; it was incredulous, disgusted, and curious all at once, and if Sam hadn't been dead serious, he would have burst out laughing.

Silence lingered for a few seconds, and then Dean said, "Seriously? That's - no offense, Sammy, but that's --"

"No, it's not," Sam said automatically, before Dean could tell him exactly what it was. "It's just blood."

"Yeah! It's _blood_. It's blood, dude, that's what I'm sayin'."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Dean. We see blood all the time. _We_ bleed all the time. Jesus, you slipped in a puddle of blood like - what, three weeks ago? Women have sex during their periods all the time. And orgasms are supposed to help with cramps."

"What the hell? Tell me you don't have some thing for being a human tampon, man..."

Opening his mouth incredulously, Sam was about to huff out some kind of annoyed response when Dean pushed on.

"And how could all that help, anyway? Wouldn't gettin' all worked up just make it worse? An' I can tell you, dude, that's such a load of shit. I am _not_ in the mood. You can't tell me chicks wanna get it on while they feel like this. I've never been less horny in my life."

"Could've fooled me," retorted Sam, "with the way you've been feelin' yourself up."

"I told you, my tits hurt," said Dean testily, crossing his arms over them suddenly. "Like you'd know what the hell it feels like. They're all fuckin' _sensitive_ and they _ache_ and they feel heavy as hell."

Sam paused, the gears in his head turning in strange and grinding ways. Then, before he fully understood and approved of what he was doing, he leaned in over Dean, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.

"They hurt when you touch 'em, or does that make 'em feel better?" At that, Dean gave him a Look and uncurled his arms so he could get a rough elbow into Sam's chest. Sam flinched -- more at the unexpectedness of it than in any actual pain -- then rolled his eyes again. "Seriously, I just wanna know."

"Whatever - _neither_ , you little perv. They ache either way. 'S like pokin' a bruise or somethin', y'know? 'S just weird."

"Here, let me try," said Sam, and he had a hand cupped gently around the slight curve of the one closest to him before Dean could say _hell no_.

But Dean didn't say that; he just furrowed an eyebrow deeply and looked up at Sam with this skeptical, slightly offended Are You Friggin' Serious expression. Then his stare leapt away to some unknown point as Sam gave that warm swell a tender caress with the side of his thumb. Beneath the warm cotton of the t-shirt, he could feel the nub of Dean's nipple tightening, and it wasn't until he heard Dean catch his breath that he realized _he_ wasn't breathing at all.

"That hurt?" he asked, only barely audible.

Dean's eyes pinned onto his again. He ground out, "What d'you think?"

"I don't know," murmured Sam honestly. "You tell me."

"Jesus - _yeah_ , it..."

"Mm-hmm," Sam let out softly, skeptically. His stomach was starting to go leaden and hot, 'cause Dean's nipple was so hard under the fabric that he was flicking it, all slow and stiff and reluctant, back and forth over the pad of his thumb.

There was a warning tone to the breathless way Dean said, "Sam..."

And Sam, running on pure instinct, just ignored him and bent in to close his mouth over Dean's nipple, right through the cotton of his t-shirt. Beneath the sudden touch of mouth and the hand he slid comfortingly up Dean's sternum, Sam could feel him going rigid.

" _Sam_." 

This time there wasn't even any voice behind it; it was like the barest of gasps. Sam could feel his breath heating the cotton of the t-shirt, feel his tongue wetting it as it moved roughly over the papery fabric and the rigid knot beneath it. He could feel his own heart thundering and the traffic jam his brain had suddenly become with all of the colliding impulses and squashed-down desires. He felt just as he did firing off his sawed-off rifle loaded with rock salt at a spirit -- sure and determined and like his veins were surging with adrenaline.

He scrabbled his hand down to the hem of Dean's t-shirt, and it came up with a couple of rough jerks, exposing the tense muscles of Dean's stomach and the white elastic band of the briefs he was wearing under the boxers. The realization that somewhere under both of those, Dean was wearing a _pad_ hit Sam like a punch to the gut, and he was practically choking on a breath as he pressed his heated face into Dean's tit and gently slurped a swollen nipple into his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, S- Sam --" Dean hissed brokenly.

It wasn't anything like doing it to Jess; nothing like Madison or the adventuresome girl Sam had lost his virginity to freshman year of college. It was _Dean_ , and his little tits weren't anything like theirs -- they were sweet in the way untouched flesh is, young in their newness, and his nipples were shriveling up all tight and sensitive. Sam could feel Dean's chest working in jerking breaths under his mouth, and it made his lips pull over Dean's nipple in a little suck that had Dean giving this harsh bark of a breath.

" _Ow._ "

Sam ran his tongue soothingly, apologetically over the hard little point his lips were clinging around and backed off to see Dean staring down at him with a strangely vulnerable expression, heat and confusion in his eyes.

"Sammy," he managed, like Sam's name was the only thing he could say, and meant everything anyway.

"You in the mood now?" asked Sam lowly, making Dean's mouth fall open in breathless disbelief. "Let's see," he continued, not knowing where this sudden certainty was coming from, but sort of knowing what he was doing from the times he'd done it to Jess. His hand was slipping down Dean's stomach and digging into his briefs before Dean could say _hell no_ \-- which, this time, he kinda did.

"Dude, no --"

"It's okay," Sam rasped, his nerve endings all lighting up at the wiry scratch of Dean's pubes against his fingertips, at the sudden plastic edge of the pad that was sitting up against Dean's... 

Oh, God, oh _God_ , Dean had a _pussy_ , and Sam's middle finger was sinking right into the blood-rich cleft of it, all hot and slick and easy, and beneath him, Dean was practically jumping out of his skin.

There were words choking their way out of Dean's throat, but they didn't make it out whole; Sam thought he heard his name again, but the rest was garbled moans and breaths that busted out as he swirled the tip of his finger gently around and around the little knot of Dean's clit.

Oh my God, he _really did_ have --

"I found your clit," Sam whispered, half savage and half amazed. Dean's knee ground into his, because suddenly he was pulling his legs open for Sam's finger and gasping.

"Jesus - Sam --"

"Yeah, open up," encouraged Sam, his voice coming out at a sinister pitch, and curled his hand down until his finger was sinking with a squish up into the unbelievably hot blood-slippery tightness of Dean's cunt.

"S --" managed Dean, but that's all he could seem to get out, his eyes momentarily going wide and then squeezing shut as his face pulled tight. Sam pressed his finger in, slow and deep and sinking, getting the heel of his thumb and the inside of his palm and the backs of his knuckles all sticky with blood. 

"See?" he whispered. "You're all wet for it already. I can put my finger right in... just one... 'cause you're so tight." As the realization dawned on him, he asked, "You haven't... put your fingers up in here before... have you?"

"You - fuckin' - pervert --"

"'S matter?" Sam let the slippery clenching of Dean's inner muscles push his finger out again -- then he pushed it right back in, fucking it right up into the tightness. "You can put a tampon in just like this, Dean."

Idly, he moved his thumb to caress Dean's clit, and Dean actually _bucked_ as he came, cussing at Sam under his breath unrecognizably and squeezing around Sam's finger like crazy, the heat and strength of his pussy around Sam's finger incredible.

Even with the surreal haze of arousal that had gripped him, Sam couldn't help but be a little shocked, 'cause even when she was really horny, Jess had never come so fast at so little stimulation. Something horrible and hot squeezed his stomach and made him lean in and knock his tongue against Dean's nipple and fuck his finger into that slick heat again and again, even as Dean spat, "Jesus - oh, _Jesus_ , Sam --" It seemed to go on for ages, Dean coming around his finger and glaring at him and falling apart into shaking limbs and open, flushed lips.

By the time Sam slowly, carefully withdrew his blood-smeared hand (holding the band of Dean's briefs away from it with the other), Dean was not much more than pathetic wheezes. He stared at Sam's shining wet hand in some kind of horror.

"It's just blood," Sam told him softly, rubbing his wet red fingers together.

Dean huffed. "'Just blood.' You're - one sick puppy, Sammy, you know that?" His knee jabbed Sam's leg weakly. "Kinkier than I gave you credit for..."

Sort of still surprised at his own audacity, Sam grinned, then scooted away and off the bed to go wash his hand, leaving Dean with his shirt tugged up and his knees open, sopping into his pad. Over-aware that his cock was standing up hard in his boxers, he ran his hand under lukewarm tap water and watched it go pink and swirl down the drain.

After soaping up and rinsing off again, Sam leaned out of the bathroom door to peer at Dean, who looked drowsy and had wrestled out of his shirt entirely. Sam's cock gave a jerk in his boxers at the sight, which Sam did his best to just ignore, ignore, ignore -- to remember that he'd seen them before, and would see them again. No big deal. It was all no big deal.

"How are the cramps now?" he asked, sort of awkwardly.

Dean glanced at him, then fixed his eyes studiously on _Mad About You_. 

"... Think that Midol's kickin' in. Now get in here and cuddle me."

The relief that washed over Sam made his grin enormous. "You're so pathetic."


End file.
